Shopping Spree
As seen in the July 2009 issue of Bella Magazine
Lately all of the kids needed new clothes. They have this pesky habit of growing every year. You’d think I would be used to it by now, since they’ve been growing on and off since birth. But still, when they need new stuff, I always freak out. “Didn’t we just get you those skateboarding shoes?” I cry out, visions of $65 dancing through my head. “Yeah, last fall,” a boy will concur. I live in a fantasy world where each child only needs one new pair of shoes a year. Come to think of it, that’s not fantasy, that’s how I grew up. We always got new school shoes in August, before school began. Then we were stuck with ‘em for the whole year. I never remember getting new shoes in the spring. When one of my own darlings has his entire foot sticking out from the huge hole in his shoes, I naturally suggest that he duct tape them or wear his flip flops until summer is over. For some reason, the kids are not that hip to my plan.
So lately, we’ve been doing a lot of shopping. It’s best to take the teens out one at a time. Sure, it’s nice to spend that individual time with them. But it also heads off the inevitable and annoying comparisons of what brother or sister is getting. Shopping is bad enough but the pouting can send me over the edge. And I pout very easily. Disagreements generally are part of a shopping trip and I don’t care to have many witnesses to that scene.
A few years ago one of our sons was going through a stage that involved him coloring all of his fingernails black with Sharpie marker (we wouldn’t buy him black nail polish.) This was long before Adam Lambert of American Idol fame made that look commonplace. The black Sharpie nails were complimented with black t-shirts and skin tight jeans. Having recently been a teen myself, I knew it was just a stage so I played along. I also looked like an idiot in high school when I wore men’s boxer shorts as outerwear, so I’m willing to cut my kids some slack. We trotted to one of the fierce stores at the mall. (My hip hairstylist, Tamar, told me that “groovy” is not cool to say and “fierce” is much better.)
At the mall, son-who-shall-not-be-named was trying on these skin tight jeans. I was shocked he got into them without Crisco or going on that lemonade and hot pepper diet. He walked out, stiffly, as he couldn’t bend at any point. I immediately challenged him to sit down or at least prove that he could breathe. I also wondered aloud if these pants would prohibit his ability to father a child one day. Our helpful salesperson showed up at just that moment to tell him how sexy and fantastic he looked in the jeans. (He was sold at sexy, believe me.) When I protested saying, “He can’t walk, sit or breathe!” she took the time to explain to me that this is the style and if he’s got it, flaunt it and a bunch of other nonsense from someone who clearly works on commission. He got the $60 jeans, wore them twice, ate lunch for a few days and outgrew them. He sold them to an emaciated friend for $15. What a deal.
The lesson I learned was this, “Let the kids have a say but when it’s your money, you cast the deciding vote.” I hope that you clip that sentence out and put it in your wallet for when you are at the mall with your own teenagers. If they want to buy weird, oddly fitted and horrific clothes in an attempt at self-expression, that’s fine, they can pay for it themselves. I want to buy them things I’m not embarrassed about.
Back to our recent shopping trip(s). We were so thrilled to find the Plato’s Closet in Roanoke. It’s a resale store with all teen clothes. I was actually there four different times last week with kids who suddenly discovered that shorts are cool and needed them immediately. I have (almost) kept my mouth shut as they’ve worn jeans constantly over the last few summers, even when it was 103 degrees. They would say, “We’re not hot.” But now all of a sudden, they are hot and want shorts. This is the moment I’ve been waiting for. Shorts are back in! And they are the preppy plaid ones from when I was in college. The tag on one pair of shorts actually called them “Old School.” (Isn’t that kind of like “groovy”?) In any case, I got out my VISA and was secretly full of glee. Finally, they are wearing clothes that I like! Just don’t tell them I said so.
Lately all of the kids needed new clothes. They have this pesky habit of growing every year. You’d think I would be used to it by now, since they’ve been growing on and off since birth. But still, when they need new stuff, I always freak out. “Didn’t we just get you those skateboarding shoes?” I cry out, visions of $65 dancing through my head. “Yeah, last fall,” a boy will concur. I live in a fantasy world where each child only needs one new pair of shoes a year. Come to think of it, that’s not fantasy, that’s how I grew up. We always got new school shoes in August, before school began. Then we were stuck with ‘em for the whole year. I never remember getting new shoes in the spring. When one of my own darlings has his entire foot sticking out from the huge hole in his shoes, I naturally suggest that he duct tape them or wear his flip flops until summer is over. For some reason, the kids are not that hip to my plan.
So lately, we’ve been doing a lot of shopping. It’s best to take the teens out one at a time. Sure, it’s nice to spend that individual time with them. But it also heads off the inevitable and annoying comparisons of what brother or sister is getting. Shopping is bad enough but the pouting can send me over the edge. And I pout very easily. Disagreements generally are part of a shopping trip and I don’t care to have many witnesses to that scene.
A few years ago one of our sons was going through a stage that involved him coloring all of his fingernails black with Sharpie marker (we wouldn’t buy him black nail polish.) This was long before Adam Lambert of American Idol fame made that look commonplace. The black Sharpie nails were complimented with black t-shirts and skin tight jeans. Having recently been a teen myself, I knew it was just a stage so I played along. I also looked like an idiot in high school when I wore men’s boxer shorts as outerwear, so I’m willing to cut my kids some slack. We trotted to one of the fierce stores at the mall. (My hip hairstylist, Tamar, told me that “groovy” is not cool to say and “fierce” is much better.)
At the mall, son-who-shall-not-be-named was trying on these skin tight jeans. I was shocked he got into them without Crisco or going on that lemonade and hot pepper diet. He walked out, stiffly, as he couldn’t bend at any point. I immediately challenged him to sit down or at least prove that he could breathe. I also wondered aloud if these pants would prohibit his ability to father a child one day. Our helpful salesperson showed up at just that moment to tell him how sexy and fantastic he looked in the jeans. (He was sold at sexy, believe me.) When I protested saying, “He can’t walk, sit or breathe!” she took the time to explain to me that this is the style and if he’s got it, flaunt it and a bunch of other nonsense from someone who clearly works on commission. He got the $60 jeans, wore them twice, ate lunch for a few days and outgrew them. He sold them to an emaciated friend for $15. What a deal.
The lesson I learned was this, “Let the kids have a say but when it’s your money, you cast the deciding vote.” I hope that you clip that sentence out and put it in your wallet for when you are at the mall with your own teenagers. If they want to buy weird, oddly fitted and horrific clothes in an attempt at self-expression, that’s fine, they can pay for it themselves. I want to buy them things I’m not embarrassed about.
Back to our recent shopping trip(s). We were so thrilled to find the Plato’s Closet in Roanoke. It’s a resale store with all teen clothes. I was actually there four different times last week with kids who suddenly discovered that shorts are cool and needed them immediately. I have (almost) kept my mouth shut as they’ve worn jeans constantly over the last few summers, even when it was 103 degrees. They would say, “We’re not hot.” But now all of a sudden, they are hot and want shorts. This is the moment I’ve been waiting for. Shorts are back in! And they are the preppy plaid ones from when I was in college. The tag on one pair of shorts actually called them “Old School.” (Isn’t that kind of like “groovy”?) In any case, I got out my VISA and was secretly full of glee. Finally, they are wearing clothes that I like! Just don’t tell them I said so.
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